


Little Red

by miraclesinapril



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Magic, Murder, Violence, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22146274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraclesinapril/pseuds/miraclesinapril
Summary: Red Riding Hood, retold.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 8
Kudos: 147
Collections: Round 3: Autumn and Winter - On the Snow





	Little Red

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt Flake: 363**  
>  **Author's Note:** Hello, dear reader I hope you enjoy this story. Dear prompter, I hope this is to your liking! A massive thank you to the mods for their endless patience, kindness and assistance, I don't think I could have finished without it. A note on the tags: The violence is not too graphic but it is there in the story, along with death (not main characters) so a little heads up.

Once there lived a young witch on the edge of the forest close by the town he was born. One day, in the heart of Windfall, he caught whisper of his Nan’s illness. With his basket of herbs, potions, tinctures, fresh bread, and rich milk, he set off for the cottage deep in the woods, where he grew up, where his Nan still lived. 

It was a pleasant walk, that day in the woods. Everything was aglow in hues of crimson and red, for it was Windfall. Some trees were dense with long red leaves, red like the big round apples Nan dropped into fat cauldrons every Windfall eve, their rubiness visible through the bubbling water. He could see it so clearly he did not even have to warp, the nutmeg and vanilla she would add kissed his nostrils as if he were standing in the memory. 

A day would come, he knew, when he would warp the simple days they lived together but he had an inkling that the Windfall memories would not be one of them. They had a habit of standing up to time.

Warping was one of the last gifts Grandmother had given him, on his eighth birthday before she disappeared from his life and the burden of his personhood fell on Nan with her sweet fires and spiced tea. It had not been enough to win the witchchild over, not at first. For Grandmother had told him she’d take him along on her ship and they would sail away together, sail on all the seven seas and eventually make their way to his mother’s land, to their people and ancestry. In the scrying bowl she’d conjure images of sparkling blue waters, vaster than all of the forests he’d ever seen, and great majestic ships with billowing black sails inscribed with inverted white triangles and a line running through the lower halves, gliding through the water like serpents of the sea. 

In that same scrying bowl she showed him times bygone, for it was the past that informed the future, she used to say, and the past came to be the present and one needed to be wary of it at all times if they wanted no nasty surprises. The bowl showed him Mother and Father, and the two of them together. He had been delighted, for no one ever spoke of them in town and Nan had been a stranger at the time. All was well until the images twisted and she showed him what came to be when they were found out. He resisted, he closed his eyes, he begged for her not to show him that, to bring back the pretty blue waters but she forbade him from averting his gaze.

In any case, he would have watched on just to appease the crinkle that appeared at the corners of her pursed mouth, which only appeared when she was significantly displeased, and by the Moon did Jongin feel distressed by nothing else the way Grandmother’s disappointment and displeasure made him. He learnt not to flinch, not to make a sound, as the revolting events unfolded on the surface. By the time he was eight, he learnt how to enchant quail bones and keep them under his pillow to ward off the dark spirits haunting his rest, tampering with his memories and playing them on a broken loop. 

He woke with streaks of silver on his pillow, his lips, cheeks and nose smeared with it. At the time he hadn’t fully grasped yet that magic was transactional but he woke up without screaming once in the night and in his eyes that was worth a pinch of blood. 

Blood. He’d given his fair share of it over the years. Sometimes not so fair. That, too, took time to grasp. Exchange, guaranteed. Balance, now that was something precarious. Grandmother would spit between his eyes if she heard of the uses he was putting his magic to. But she wasn’t here, was she? She hadn’t been in over ten Windfalls. Unlike many other things, Jongin had learnt quickly how to fill such gaping crevices with velvet blooms and saffron silk and silverweed, enough to run amok on every field for miles if he were to turn himself out to the earth. The earth was with him, at the end, if nothing else.

Nutmeg and cinnamon filled his nostrils as he turned onto the path to the cottage. He smiled. It soured abruptly into grimace. She should not have been exerting herself. She informed him she had the mere sniffles but Jongin didn’t know anyone more resilient or anyone more inclined towards the understatement than Nan. 

Besides, Ray had told him the truth when she’d come back from delivering the milk. Nan couldn’t meet her at the door, as she normally did, prompting Ray’s alarm in the first place. Jongin had written in his last letter that he’d come as soon as he could, before he knew the gravitas of the situation. He shouldn’t have given her that forewarning. He didn’t need a hearty meal or special treats, he was no longer a child. He needed her in bed, recuperating and letting him look after her. 

Consternation and dilemma had engrossed him so entirely that he did not see or hear the wolf until it was too late. Unusual; nothing dangerous came within a mile of his perimeter without him sensing it. It would not be much of a concern either if this were any other wolf. Animals had a keen sense of disaster, calamity. They sensed the unnatural, the preternatural. They sensed darkness. More importantly, they know power. Nothing in the forest bothered or inconvenienced Jongin and when he could afford it, he paid his dues. 

This was no regular wolf. This was more of a beast in the form of a wolf. 

Its long limbs brought it to a height level to Jongin’s navel. For someone considered on the taller side among his town, it was the largest lupine he’d ever laid eyes on. If it were a lupine. The sinews of its hind legs bulged, thick and unnaturally extended like it were a human bending on all fours and playing beast. Its sable coat was dense and unruly in some places, an unkempt mane on its neck and head, surrounding its long snout. 

Other places like its lengthy back and chest and underside, the fur was scarce and the sculpted purple sinews rippled as the hound heaved heavily. Its ears were unsettling long and pricked, the insides flaming crimson like its bared gums, like its hard glinting eyes. Its canines were unnaturally elongated, like thick edifice columns, coated in stringy bile that dripped from the points that dropped past its jaw, locked together in an almost ‘x’ and deepened the echoes of its chesty growls. 

Jongin stared at it with a calmness that was half pretense. He did not need to tame any wolves for they sensed he was safe company, like the deer did, like the foxes. Should he ever come across a feral hound he put it down after drowsing it with a spell. He was not disconcerted by the presence of the wolf or even its threatening body language but by the fact that he had not sensed it. Nothing threatening got past his personal wards without detection.

He continued to stare at the wolf, probing for anything out of place beneath the surface of its red aura. It regarded Jongin with hunger, with thirst that would unsettle a mundane. He willed the wolf to submit, down,  _ down boy. _ The beast gnashed its teeth, snout quivering as it fought to keep its head up and high. But whatever it was, it was ultimately no match for Jongin’s power and perhaps that’s why his guard had not been tipped off. Eventually, the wolf-beast hung its head, its growls placated to shallow rumbles, eyes trained on the ground, neck bared to the side. 

“Good boy,” Jongin said softly, a breath loosening in his chest. He would sooner give in to Nan’s demands for him to give his hand in marriage than pet this creature but he was glad he would not have to hurt it. He started forward to examine it better but before he could get any closer it sprung back, away, as if wounded and was off, disappearing into the brushes and thicket. 

Clutching his basket tighter, Jongin shook off the incident and started forward. There would be time enough to figure out the wolf if it stuck to these neck of the woods. The cinnamon-nutmeg was getting stronger, an all too urgent reminder he needed to get Nan back in bed before she hurt herself irrevocably. 

Late Mabon had seen the green ivy sheathing the stone cottage turn into a sea of crimson, very little of its brown thatched roof to be seen, transforming the white stucco house into a dim ruby in the heart of the woods. The ivy crawled along the stone path Nan dug herself and the purple crocuses and red dahlias and pink hibiscuses that were usually meticulously curated along the west and east fences grew unruly, and horrifically, some stilted and yellow. The knot of dread looped tighter around itself as Jongin tried to think back to a time Nan let the garden go. There was nothing in his memory, not once, for any reason, not even when she had caught the pox. 

The golden oak windows of the front room were ajar, explaining the potent aroma wafting, accompanied by the hush of Nan’s crooning carrying out. 

Thorn, nowhere to be seen before, came fluttering in after Jongin and settled on his shoulder. He stroked her plumage, tutting. 

“Why didn’t you stop her? I trusted you.” 

The robin redbreast twittered back with narrowed eyes and a high pointed beak.  _ Do not put this on me.  _

“Fine.” Jongin sighed, “You should have at least come to me.” 

Thorn had the grace to lower her head, appropriately chagrined. She promptly flew off his shoulder, chirping louder and announcing his presence to Nan. 

“There you are, took your time didn’t you? Stop bothering my birdy and come here. Set this pot on the table.” She hobbled over to the glass cabinet and reached for her blue-hibiscus painted fine tea set, lowering each saucer and cup slowly onto the tray. 

“Nan.” Jongin stood stoically in the centre of the small kitchen that Nan had spent one too many an afternoon baking cookies for him after he spent the day staring at a wall and wondering aloud when Grandmother would come back. 

“Come on now,” she urged, ambling back to the cherrywood table, “the tea will get cold.” The ceramic ware clattered all the way there as her arms shook. She gave him her back as swiftly as she could, which was to say much slower and patently unsteady. 

“Nan.” Jongin said a little more forcefully. She paused. He strode to her and wrapped his arms around her, walking her back to the table, pulling out a seat and sitting her down. 

“Nan,” he said again, kneeling down and taking her hands. This closer he could see the deeper shadows under her eyes, the jaundice tint to her skin and echoes of pain framing her gaze. 

“Darling,” she cupped his face, smiling as she finally looked him in the eye, “I’m fine. Just the old sniffles.” 

“You should be in bed.” 

“You should be out working.” 

“Can’t do that when my Nan thinks she’s responsible for the sunrise each day, now can I?” 

“You could if you’d been taught to mind your own business.” She rebuked and then fell into a coughing fit. The sleeve of her paisley dress came away bloody. She turned her wrist in and smiled wider as if that would get Jongin to unsee. His heart bettered his rib cage loudly, the desperate flutter of wings on an anxious bird. 

“Nan.” He whispered hoarsely. 

“It’s nothing, darling.” 

“Stop.” He said quietly, anger hot in his voice. Nan started but he was too caught in the web of concern to concede. “It’s  _ not _ nothing. I’m staying.” She was shaking her head before he finished. He was done, though. He was done giving in to her insistence on perfect health when it was clearly deteriorating. 

“I am performing the spell, tonight,  _ and _ I am staying with you. There is not a word you can say to convince me otherwise, Nan, so spare your breath.” 

“It happens to everyone, my boy.” Nan reached for a cup and he went to get the pot. 

“Not everyone has a witch grandson.” He retorted. “I don’t understand why you won’t let me do it.”

“You do understand.” She said gently, frowning as he poured for her. 

“I don’t accept.” He scowled, feeling very much like the nine-year-old she took in all those years ago who pulled the exact expression when she said he couldn’t climb the crabapple trees around the cottage. 

“I’m afraid you have no choice.” 

The frustration bubbling inside quieted, as if a lid was suddenly put on his emotions. Despair was a good cork.

“Don’t say that.” He set the butternut squash loaf on the table and went to fetch a knife. 

“My dear, I need to see you well treated before...” Frail, she lifted the cup to sip. “Why won’t you give him a chance?” She implored casually, covering her mouth as she subdued another fit. 

“Nan!” the knife clattered out of his grasp. 

“You’d better keep that voice down with me, child.” She said calmly, unfazed. “I wish I could be here with you forever, my darling. But we both know I won’t. And I’ve told you many times, Jongin, family can be found anywhere. You just have to look. That gentleman alpha—“

“Nanny. I will never be with that man.” The hardness in his voice gave her pause. He had never turned her down on this so vehemently, aware she thought him too stubborn for his own good sometimes and he never felt like cementing the notion too firmly. After all, in most cases she’d been right. In most cases, Jongin gained from her suggestions and guidance more than he lost, if he ever did. Without Nan, he wouldn’t have Ray or Moon or the several other grandmothers he had made in town. But this. . . A piece of him unfurled. He felt like gnashing his teeth. He felt like growling, like screaming. 

“Oh.”The quiet word had the understanding of a lifetime packed into it and Jongin’s heart grew sore. “Care to tell me why?” 

“No. I don’t— he’s not— I don’t want him. Okay, Nan? I don’t want him. I’ve known him all my life and if I wanted to be with him, I would be. There’s… there’s no one for me here if you’re gone. No reason to stay, anyway.”The fact had been with him for long and only now could he admit it aloud, feeling small, the roar inside him dying, his feet giving in and slumping him into the seat across Nan. “I’m not here for him. I haven’t stayed for him all these years. I’m here for you. Let’s heal you first, okay?” He smiled, his eyes covered in a misty sheen that distorted the image of Nan’s own glassy eyes as she reached for his hands. 

“I’m here, darling.” Her leathered, mottled skin of years of material work covered his. She squeezed, “I’m here right now.” 

* * *

  
  


It was mid-morning and the town centre was bustling with folks making merry and getting their supplies for the day. Jongin made his way through, greeting the familiar vendors and stall owners, including ones who never greeted him back, even after twenty-odd years of calling that town his home. 

He glimpsed his dearest friend Moon at the flaxseed stall, running his mouth and riling up old Aunt Mary from the looks of it. Taking pity on the elderly lady, Jongin called for him. The error of the action fell on him an unfortunate second too late. For Moon’s attention was not the only one he caught.

Before trouble could embark in his direction Jongin smiled at his best friend and turned away swiftly, knowing Moon would find him when he finished up with Aunt Mary. He walked briskly to the herbs and weeds section, but the cloying followed him, he could feel it seeping beneath his garments like sludge. 

He was almost successful on his journey to Foul Finna’s cart when his elbows were caught with more than polite force. A jolt of revulsion sparked through Jongin. On composing himself after indulging in an ambrosial moment of rage, power crackling at his fingertips silently like a hurricane brewing in his palm, he allowed himself to be turned around. Bright smile ready, too tight at the edges to be authentic. 

The urge to singe the hair off the man's gleaming leer sang through his vessels but with great restraint he stayed his hand. Since his first heat over ten Windfalls ago, power had come to him in a surge as if before he’d only had access to a trickle of it and a reservoir was then being opened up to him. It had progressively got harder to restrain himself, especially in the grip of more robust emotions such as anger. Frankly, he never had to work half as hard to stay in control as he did with this man and it was getting quite draining, he had a hunch keeping up these pretenses would cost someone  _ something  _ one of these fine days. Perhaps it would cost nobody but himself. He could at least commend himself for holding off this long. 

He tuned into the man’s speech, already missing half of what he'd said. 

"Tonight, then?" 

"I beg your pardon?"

The man, Jaeho, let out a sigh too faint for human ears. But Jongin was not human. And he had another hunch that Jaeho knew his senses were keener than average. Yet he never failed to imply Jongin a simpleton as often as he got the chance, of course dressing up his impertinence in coats of decorum and gilded verbiage.

"I inquired if you would be so kind as to give us the pleasure of your company at our dinner table tonight." 

"Oh... no, no I apologize. Nan is a bit under the weather, so I'm afraid I can't leave her side at the moment." 

"That is quite unfortunate. Would you like me to send the physician? Our new gentleman is fresh from the Academy and the new methods of medicine are working wonders all over. I am sure he could have your grandmother right as rain by tomorrow’s eve.” he smiled that lopsided smile that charmed most omegas into compliance. The disingenuous wafted off him like fester off a three-day-old corpse in a desert. 

There it was, another slight. Jongin bristled. If he were younger he would have an. . . ‘incident’ that blazed this worm to dust. 

Physician. 

The problem with Jaeho was that he seemed to be of mixed sentiment when it came to Jongin and ‘his kind’. Jongin was a simpleton—a mongrel, addled by the fusion of bloodlines that never should have merged. He was in need of aid at all times, and at all times he required an alpha to take care of his needs and be his keeper. Jongin, was also, in Jaeho’s eyes, sly. He was shrewd and artful, tainted by his silver sorcerer blood, touched by darkness and unrelenting in his affairs with humans. For those reasons, he was in need of a strong alpha keeper, someone to keep his evil in check. 

Jaeho, it seemed, could not reconcile which version of Jongin he believed in but his conclusion was singular and absolute.  _ He  _ ought to be Jongin’s tamer and when his attempts at conquest through brute had proved futile very quickly, very young, he resorted to refinement, genteel and extravagant displays and gestures that onlookers who could not possibly catch the undertones would admire and revere. 

Jongin abhorred him with a passion reserved for lovers. 

_ Physician. _

As if Jongin could not restore her to youthful health with a single spell if Nan permitted him. 

"She has sufficient care, your concern has not gone unnoticed." 

"Of course. Your family is my family." 

And of course he was still under the assumption that they would one day be wed. That Jongin would surrender eventually, that his omega status meant he was born to submit to any pheromone that challenged his. That all these years of denial have just been an exhilarating chase that Jongin was putting on for him. Because how could Jongin resist him? When Jaeho was the mayor’s son and one day all of his father’s riches and influence would be his? 

Too many times had Jaeho insinuated Jongin should show more gratitude for the interest he deigned to show him, how by doing so he fended off all the other alphas who were unworthy and since Jongin was so undesirable himself, being a scandalous human-witch hybrid, he should be licking up the dirt Jaeho set his feet upon. 

All he had done was earn himself Jongin’s ever-burgeoning hatred and deter any other alphas Jongin might care for in the slight, for fear of repercussions from Jaeho or the mayor himself. It was no secret the two men would raze down anyone who opposed them or obstructed them in any regard. 

Jongin did not recall exactly what it was that made son  _ and  _ father delude themselves into thinking he would ever become kin with them but he could at least take comfort in the fact that they feared his powers and unpredictability enough to never attempt to coerce him openly into their bidding, at least not that he was aware of. Ultimately they, too, had a specific, sophisticated mien to uphold for Jongin had been expedient to the town, right from the time other children were spending their days in play, for anyone disgruntled by his ‘otherness’ to overtly harm or eradicate him. 

"How about tomorrow? Will you be free?" 

"Perhaps." 

"When might I enjoy your company?" his eyes traveled down purposefully lethargic, towards Jongin's cleavage, and pointedly further before he raised them to Jongin's again, “I have been in dire want of your soothing presence.” 

_ Choke, choke on your maggot brains, empty boor. _

"I am sure you have,” Jongin offered the shell of a smile. “But I truly cannot come back to town until Nan has recovered. And after that, I assume leisure will be a scarcity. You know how sickness pervades every home this time of year.” 

"In any case,” Jaeho took a step toward him and the air started to thin around Jongin, “It would delight me to meet with you soon. My father and I have some proposals for you." 

"Proposals?"

"Yes, you might find them very... generous. And to your liking." 

"To my liking." he repeated without colour. Perhaps. . . perhaps it was time to consider some underhanding. He. . . he could not endure this for much longer and whatever the worm was suggesting sounded grave, as if he and his father were about to put their foot down and have him carted into a church to say their vows. 

"Yes. I know your. . . unconventional liberty is of much import to you. Before we gather for anything formal, I would like to have you know that it is not something I intend to take from you. Neither that nor your. . . practices.” 

"I see. And what exactly brought about this change?" Frankly, Jongin preferred someone who had not given him grief about every aspect of his life, individuality or autonomy for years, brutishly disregarding his choices and wishes, and foolishly thinking their belligerence would earn them time of his day. 

The nausea was expanding with dizzying speed. What was taking Moon so long? He yearned immeasurably for his best friend to appear by his side at any moment now. 

"Well, if you are to be mine—” 

Disgust surged viscerally in him. 

There would never come a day that Jongin would be leashed to this rancid man and let him have any sort of compulsion over him. Not in this lifetime or any other in the fabric of time. 

"—I would like for us to be happy together. To obey each other. That is what Mother tells me is important in holding a household together, and more importantly for flourishing love.” 

There. That was it. He had not changed one bit. A leopard was not changed because the pitch of its laugh was different. Same spots, same hide, same entrails. Jongin would allow himself to bow out now. He could not possibly stomach any more of this. He’d reached his Jaeho quota for the day. For a lifetime, truthfully. But alas. 

"I have to go." he tried to pass by the vile cretin. But he caught Jongin by the elbow again, grip tighter like he meant to crush Jongin's bones with his hold. For a split second the pretenses were gone, the veil was lifted. There was something smoking in Jaeho’s eyes, and his aura had turned with it, dark and charred, like bovine hunger and burnt meat. 

Jongin could taste it in his mouth and bile shot to his throat.

“You  _ will  _ meet me, Jongin, yes?”

The glint in his gaze was imposing. His stance was domineering. His pheromones caught Jongin’s throat in iron manacles. Jongin revolted at how small he was made to feel, despite his power, despite everything he knew he was worth. He could reduce this man to ash in a heartbeat. He could make him vanish. He could feed him to the forest snakes. He could break his neck and throw him in a cauldron of cordite. 

How he  _ ached  _ to do so. But he could do no such thing without inviting a world of trouble and carefully designed reparations. The days were changing. The time of peace, however delicate, with witches and mankind living side by side was coming to bitter dusk. 

While a full prohibition on witches and the practice of nature’s craft had not been passed, the whispers were spreading. The town centre was often abuzz with gossip and rumours, as reported to him by Ray and Moon, and other towns were not free of it so he heard. The days of the wise folk in the mere folk’s land was coming to a close. Suspicion of the witches was growing, despite their benefit, despite their— in most cases—freely given skills that no man in any town or hamlet could not swear they would never be in need of. 

There was a new god in town and the divinity of nature was dwindling in the eyes of man. Allegedly, they had effective tools for punishing witches now. In one place, a witch had already been lynched for the death of a cursed baby she could not save. In another place, a witch had been burnt alive for no explicable reason. Jongin could not afford to step on the wrong toes, not in the approaching epoch. 

Undoubtedly, he wanted to thrive. Undoubtedly, he could not live without his freedom and he had so much more to learn as a witch, so much of his power he did not yet know how to wield masterfully. But most of all he wanted others to benefit from what he could do for them. Contrary to what Grandmother had instilled in him before her disappearance, Jongin did not care to keep his skills or magic contained or inaccessible to any person whose life or affair he could improve. 

It was a volatile task when the very people he sought to aid were averse to his existence, and without apparent reason, in his case. If it came to it, he was certain more than half of them would sooner turn on him than utter a word of protection. It washed him with incredible sorrow but that was the convention of life, he’d learnt. 

"Yes. I will see when I can come back after Nan is stable." 

"Good." 

But Jaeho did not release him immediately. He squeezed Jongin one last time, in warning, and Jongin was on the verge of suffocating from hatred. 

It was as he nursed violent thoughts and watched Jaeho get lost in the river of people milling between the veins of the marketplace that Moon (unhelpfully) appeared next to him. 

"Jongin." his friend elbowed him in the ribs, "why do you have the looks of someone who’s just seen a ghost?

"Not a ghost, but maybe the devil himself." he took Moon’s arm and marched them in the opposite direction said devil had gone. 

"I thought you worshipped the devil." 

Jongin wrinkled his nose and took his turn to elbow Moon. "I do not." 

Moon laughed at his chagrin and embraced his side, ignoring the vexed glares thrown their way as they inconvenienced everyone on the thin channels. "What do you need?" 

"Out of mugwort, mayweed and running low on ginger. Some yarrow. The ones in Nan’s garden have all died.” 

"So to Gory?" 

"To Gory." 

Bowing closer and lowering his voice, Moon asked, "What did he say to you?" 

"He wants to me to 'meet' with him and his father for a few 'proposals'. I believe he called them generous. And modest." 

"Modestly generous? Does that make sense?" Moon wrinkled his nose as a bad smell invaded him.

"I could not tell you," Jongin sighed, "but I could beat him blue." 

"Shh." Moon urged, glancing around them, making sure nobody heard them speak ill of the mayor's son.

"He tried to intimidate me. He also implied, once again, that my skills weren't good enough. That Nan needs a physician." 

"Good grief. Don't you have some demon who could mysteriously appear in his bedroom and gobble him up?" 

"Now who needs to shush?" but Jongin smiled smugly and linked their arms. 

"How is Nanny, by the way?" 

"Worrying." 

"Getting worse?"

"Yes. She won't let me do anything serious about it. Says like always,  _ it's not natural. _ That she won’t get to see God’s face if she does not accept his decree. 'm getting real tired of humans and their foolish deities, Moon." 

"How about healing her anyway and erasing her memory so she doesn't remember she wasn't exactly volunteering for it?" 

"You know I can't do that." Jongin sighed heavily, "Besides, that would alter more than her memory. It would entirely change her personality. Or worse yet, she might not even survive it. That kind of magic is not to be engaged with lightly." 

"Sympathies, my friend. I'll come by in the evening with her favourite selection." 

"She has been asking after you. Declares she’s removed you from the will." 

“As if!” Moon snorted, thoroughly affronted. “I will chase her into the afterlife myself, magic or no.” 

"There ya are!" Gory exclaimed as she saw them come into view, laughing like conspiring hyenas. It tickled Jongin harder, knowing exactly what was coming. 

"Oi, you! That's right, turn down yer eyes. Cowards, ye are." 

"Gory!" Jongin threw himself at the barrelled woman, cackling. She grunted and groaned and yelled a few oaths at them before giving in and hugging Jongin back, so tight it cut off his chest. She yelled as Moon threw himself into the mix and Three-toothed Margaret yelled at all of them as the cart wobbled and shook from the thrashing of their huge human affection ball. 

Gory procured a sachet when the maudlin reunion ended. “Mugwort, ginger, mayweed, yarrow. All here. Oh, and some complimentary woodsbane." 

"Oh Gory," Jongin said, overcome. 

"Ray passed your message. Our Lady used to use these on my Gran too when she came close to biting the dust. It'll ease up her breathing a little." 

"I can't thank you enough." 

She turned a stoic eye on him and pointed, "Well giving me my coin would be a good start.”

"Of course," Jongin laughed and took out his own small pouch, heavy with silver that was far more than the price he owed. But Gory was like a second grandmother to him and any time he could help her was happiness on his account. 

“Tell ‘auld Bora not to bite the dust yet. She ain’t seen you with your fella and God forbid he lets me see that scene without her, bless the saint.” she winked as he and Moon walked away and a blush rose to Jongin’s cheeks as a few other sellers heard the remark and cackled. 

“What do I bother coming here for? I should just ask Ray to retrieve all I need and never show my face to these thankless hags.” 

“Yes,” Moon cooed, “and deprive them of the only amusement in town? Kind of you.” 

Jongin groaned and tried to veer away from his friend but Moon stayed latched to him. “Besides, you care for them more than you admit.” and of course, he was right. 

* * *

It was noon when he concluded his business in town and parted ways with Moon and Ray. The past few days had eaten him with worry and apprehension and barely warded off melancholy at the inevitability of what encroaching was. It had been refreshing to assuage that for awhile with mirth in dear company. However, the fret returned to him as soon as he entered the woods and started down the trodden path to Nan’s cottage. For the worse, his concern for Nan was joined by an assemblage of dread on his own behalf, regarding the mayor’s worm spawn. 

It was deja vu when the wolf appeared, nearly in the exact place it ambushed Jongin the previous time. This time it did not growl, it did not grumble or raise its hackles at him like it would maul him. Instead, it. . . wagged its bushy tail? And spat a mouthful of wildflowers at his feet when Jongin came to a startled halt.

"Hello there, Mr. Wolf." he greeted with calmness that did not betray his intrigue and smiled like the smile itself was a peace offering in response to the flowers. 

The wolf-beast turned its snout and studied him. It’s eyes were no longer red but a pale blue that was disconcerting. Then, as if coming to a decision, it landed on its belly after it leapt into the clearing to their side where orange cockscomb and black dahlias grew tall. It regarded Jongin again once it stretched out like a languorous human. Its eyes beckoned, and to Jongin’s mild surprise, it took less effort than it did last time when he willed it telepathically to yield. It was as though the wolf-beast had gone away to learn the mannerisms of a real wolf, or how they responded to Jongin in any case. It snapped its neck to the side, exposing its jugular. However brief the moment had lasted, it was done and the wolf has ultimately submitted to him.

Curious, pleased and deciding to humour it, Jongin stepped into the clearing and sank down into the petals like a cloud-seat crafted for him. He unhooked his cloak and let the red velvet fall from his shoulders. Imitating the wolf, he stretched before lying back on the ground, leaves crunching as he spread out his arms, grass embedding into his hair. He was acutely aware of the wolf’s scorching breath touching him, condensing on his neck, which was too exposed actually, for the proximity of the beast. 

“Now, you’re not going to try anything silly, are you Mr. Wolf?” he said sternly, feeling slightly ridiculous as he did. 

The wolf perked up and stared.

"Why do I feel like you understand me?" 

To Jongin’s surprise, the wolf let out a sound that resembled a whine, only it was much deeper. Nonetheless, it made Jongin relax further and smile a little more genuinely. 

"Tell you the truth Mr. Wolf, it's been quite a day. I've had to deal with one animal and I'm grateful you've kept your manners. I think— oh, pardon me. I know not all animals are uncouth. That was rude of me, wasn’t it? Apologies.” he chastised himself, frowning.

The wolf whined again, sounding amazingly like a puppy, and wiggled closer. Jongin tensed but relaxed again as he realized the wolf just wanted to be closer, like a dog, and did not (yet) intend to harm him. 

"It seems he thinks he owns me. As if I am not my own person and he is a dolly he can pluck from the shop anytime that he pleases." he huffed. The fury that he subdued came spearheading to the surface again and made his skin itch with desire to retaliate.

"I might have to flee from here one of these days, Mr. Wolf.” he informed in an animated whisper, “Because I will do something very bad to that man.” 

It had an uncannily human face, this wolf. It appeared irate, grumbling consistently with teeth bared at the corners but it did not feel as though it was aimed at Jongin. It inched closer yet, until it was kneeling at Jongin’s feet. Jongin, sitting up, glanced down at it with growing intrigue. 

“I dare say you look quite unruly, Mr. Wolf. I can not explain it but. . . I want to brush your hair. Or wash you, perhaps. Quite the wild look you have going indeed.” It was true, he was scruffier than all the wolves Jongin had seen, as if intentionally unkempt, or had held his own through several scrapings. He frowned at the thought. What did wolves know about grooming and intention? The uncanny human-ness to the creature was already starting to affect his thinking.

“May I?” 

The wolf lifted its head until it came into Jongin’s outreached palm. 

“I’m going to keep being honest with you, Mr. Wolf.” he stroked the ruffled coat before prodding his fingers slowly into it and carding out the knots. The wolf put its head into Jongin’s lap, keeping keen eyes on Jongin as he caressed him and mused aloud. 

“I’m not certain why you are so trusting, for even my regular wolves took their time letting me into their fold.” the wolf blinked and tilted its head again. “No, I don’t think you are a regular wolf.

“There is something about you. . . hm, I’m not certain, like I said, but. . . see, there, right now, you look at me as if you know what I am saying. And your anatomy is plainly lunatic, is it not? You are bigger than a lion. Are you a wolf at all, Mr. Wolf? I will have to search the books. Oh— oh my. Look at that. You’re purring. Perhaps you truly are an overgrown puppy. Don’t like that? Oh, sorry. You must be an alpha. Yes, undoubtedly an alpha, oh dear what shall I do with you?” 

All doubt that this creature could be willfully dangerous to him dissolved then as he laughed and let the vibrations from the purring, contented wolf reverberate in his own skin. The savage unkemptness was tamed a fraction but Jongin suspected that the wolf would not appear any less monstrous or unappealing even after a wash. Not a bother to him, for he had figured out what was so unsettling about the beast. There was kindness in his eyes, a piercing gentleness. His behaviour exhibited no menace, either, and Jongin would follow his inkling about the peculiar nature of the wolf but for now he was rather peaceful about this large, puppylike lupine. 

“Do not whine at me, I’m just going to gather some flowers for Nan.” he wagged a finger at the rumbling wolf staring after him, downcast. It huffed but rested its snout on its paws and watched Jongin in resigned content as Jongin crawled around carefully despite his dress and selected an optimum bunch to take to his grandmother. 

“I reckon she would delight in some nosegay today. Any day, really. That’s my Nan, always in the spirit for flowers and tea. And biscuits, although—” he crawled back to the wolf and whispered conspiratorially, “—you must never ever tell her, I wish she would lay the liquorice ones to rest. Swear, swear to me you won’t breathe a word?” 

The wolf peered at him disconcertedly but eventually raised his head like a nod at Jongin’s ungiving pause. 

“That’s a good pup.” He beamed and stroked his coat again, eliciting a tiny purr. “Good boy. We’re going to be friends, you and I, Mr. Wolf. But only if you never lay finger on the hen in our back. You won’t, will you? I’m trusting you, Mr. Wolf. Oh no, you’ve got a devious look in your eye. Are you teasing me right now? You are something else. I ought to chase you away. No, relax, I won’t, good god, you weight a train!” 

The wolf had decided it would act a pup if Jongin continued to converse with it as such and tackled Jongin as though he were a terrier and not an abnormally sized, grown wolf. It knocked the breath from Jongin’s chest as it caged him but that was the initial impact and he levied his full weight off Jongin in surprising gentleness. He masked Jongin’s face and neck with gooey saliva and Jongin groaned and tried to roll away but the wolf followed him with excited barks and growls and licks, though maintaining its carefulness not to crush him. 

Jongin flung flowers and grass which caught in the wolf’s pelt and the wolf redoubled his efforts to overwhelm Jongin. They wrestled and Jongin laughed and the wolf let out sounds eerily close to chuckles and time passed swiftly. The duties and worries awaiting him had eluded him for a while and he would have continued that way if the wolf had not abruptly frozen without any provocation as Jongin prettied its sable coat by plaiting dahlias into it. 

The quiet contented rumbling ceased suddenly and it was like the wolf had stopped breathing altogether. Before Jongin’s puzzled eyes it transformed into the snarling snapping beast Jongin had previously met, its features vicious and mean and determined. With eyes blood-red, it leaped from Jongin’s side with a roar and sprinted off into the trees. 

Jongin stared on, lost and uneasiness pooling into his spine. It was as though Mr. Wolf had taken the sunshine with him, the woods darkened quickly. The clouds were gray and pregnant with thunder. He gathered his nosegays and basket and cloak quickly and set off for the journey home, still wondering at the abrupt departure of the wolf but also considering whether Nan had stayed in bed like he instructed her and whether she’d eaten the lunch he’d left for her in the enchanted bowl that would keep it warm. 

The baleful agitation accompanied him on the path and it dawned on him that the woods had gone still and silent as stone. Perhaps the inhabitants had sought shelter out of the imminent rain, perhaps the men had come to fell and while it normally sent the animals scattering and hiding, Jongin’s intuition was not soothed by that reasoning. His wards had not been disturbed but intuition and instinct had never failed him so he quickened his steps and debated breaking into a full run. 

Something sinister was afoot and Jongin was growing slightly frantic with worry about Nan. 

A shot cleaved the air. Several more sounded after. A raucous of swishing branches and cacophonous calls filled the air as flocks broke out of the trees and fled from the commotion. A chorus of human yells and shouts joined the din and Jongin abandoned his belongings as he gathered his dress and burst into a run. There was only one residence in this part of the woods and dread had taken him fully agrip. 

Parts of Nan’s fence were down, broken in. The front yard had divots in so many places it looked like a hoard of hellions had stampeded through. The flowerbeds he nursed back to vibrant life in the past week were shredded and the front windows were webbed with cracks and some parts pockmarked with holes like they’d been shot repeatedly. A rifle was deserted at the step of the front door and various trails of blood were streaked on the stones, led into the cottage. 

He dashed in so quickly he couldn’t recall if he used a spell or the air had taken pity and decided to lift and transport him. He could not recall much after that moment for the sight that greeted him was so horrendous he could not fathom it. 

A whirlwind had torn through every room, or so it seemed. Glass shattered, fabric torn, furniture overturned, doilies tattered, walls dented, punched through, curtains ripped down, pantry trampled, scullery heaped with smashed ceramic ware, mud trodden everywhere. 

That was not the worst of it. Nothing could measure to the barbarity lying in Nan’s bedroom. 

Jongin could not move or speak or breath. He could only cup his mouth in horror and stand and stare, though his knees felt like they were close to giving in and his heartbeat so loudly it roared like a storm on tin roofing. The room lengthened around him and the bed moved further and further while the walls began to close in. 

When he escaped shock for a split second he raced to the bed and started casting every healing and revival spell he could think of, drawing on the depth of his power and willing it into her cooling body. Frantic, he raced to his room and gathered his ingredients and tools; yew and cedar, lamb’s tooth and skink eyes, pink halite and mandarin oil, mortar and pestle. Impatient and wild with desperation, he used a portal spell to materialize back in Nan’s room and got to work. He continued chanting under his breath and calling on the power within his bones, calling on the forest, on the sea, for he was a child of wind and mist and there was salt of the oceans in his veins.  _ Hear me, heed me, impart your aid. Hear me, heed me, impart your aid.  _

He ground everything together rapidly and spread the paste over Nan’s forehead and reached for the switchblade in his boot. He did not register any sensation as he slashed across his palm, deeper and wider than he’d ever cut for a spell before. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He’d give as much as required, and then some. He’d give everything if that was what it would take.

He shut his eyes when he held his closed palm over Nan’s mouth and lined the trickle of blood with her mouth.  _ Work, please, please work. _

The words flew out of his mouth and an amber glow appeared at the centre of his palm where silver blood oozed. Without emitting any real heat, the incandescence grew and hope fluttered stronger than despair. The brightness reached noontime sunshine level and made the cottage seem like it were hoarding its own sun. And then it went out in a blink. 

“No,” Jongin whispered and tried to gather magic, “no, no, no!” 

No matter what he said or how far he reached for a sliver power, there was nothing. The spell failed. Nan was unmoving and colder than she’d been. 

“No!” he punched at the mattress, hurled away everything within reach and gripped his hair with the intention to rip out each strand from the root. But his eyes fall on Nan, with her mercurial grin from his blood and throat gaping open from where it had been cut. The life sapped out of him at once and the fiery rage and despair dwindled into cold hard ice nesting at the pit of his gut. 

He drew her into his arms. She felt like marble. Her blood-soaked his clothes as he held her to his chest, mute as the blunt tears came. 

Hours later the hunting party discovered him in the same position. 

* * *

The funeral was a brief and blurry affair. If Jongin felt anything other than numb and suspended in a dream, he did not remember it. Not even the news that Jaeho was missing and likely dead sparked a sliver of joy in him. He was just. Unfeeling

The one thing the funeral could not be called was small. He’d forgotten how popular Nan really was. Bora was loved in many places by many people and as the news spread like wildfire, mourners who could manage to came from far and wide. Gory took it upon herself to host the wake since the cottage was too desecrated and Jongin’s place was embedded with endless reminders of Nan. Blindly, he was moved from embrace to embrace, handshake to handshake and those who commonly slung slurs at him regained a measure of decency. He held his head high and gave thanks for condolences and yet he saw without seeing, heard without hearing. 

A fragment of a thought circulated at the back of his mind, wisps of information that had stuck with him in the aftermath. 

The town hunting party had set out after a wolf, recently spotted after a slew of livestock started disappearing from various steads and the surrounding woods. The party had caught glimpse of the predator near Nan’s home and when they gave chase it headed straight for the cottage. Nan got caught in the crossfire when the wolf apparently went berserk after being cornered. 

Jongin could not understand why they could not have put it down before it ever got in the vicinity of his grandmother, the party did not consist of amateurs but well-trained men capable of handling firearms efficiently. For all his vileness and malevolence, or rather,  _ directly  _ contributing to his malevolence was the fact that his father owned an arsenal and Jaeho himself was beyond capable of handling firearms, he intimidated countless for that reason. 

And that incision on Nan’s throat. It was far too clean for the claws of a savage. Far too methodical. There was something. . . something was not adding up. Jongin was going to have to go back to the cottage. He would have to pick up clues and perform a rewinding spell. If he could amass enough resilience, he might consider a  séance . But. . . the thought of not letting Nan rest so soon after she’d been brutalized. . . he could not stomach it. No, he would figure it out on his own. He would not rest until he did. He would not feel again until he did. He would not mourn until there was a truth to mourn. 

* * *

He was aware that Moon and Ray had tasked themselves with clearing the catastrophe that had been made of his childhood home. What he did not expect was the startling precision they had restored most of what they could, to the extent it would have been untouched in the eye of visitors. He dragged himself through the corridors, fingers ghosting over the walls, searching for a spark of his grandmother, hoping there was no essence of her left, wishing for the opposite. 

He ached to hear her croning, one last time, for tantalizing vanilla and nutmeg and soft biscuits, for stories heard from the feet of her armchair folded in front of a fire, for the stern cadence of her graceful guidance that he resisted only because he knew she was right, for the flapping and chirping of Thorn whom he found unbreathing and broken-winged behind the front door as though she’d been caught behind its force. 

Dead warmth, vacant life, empty of sound. This was a hollow space now, the charred ground after a lightning strike, the blackened earth where nothing worthwhile would ever grow again. 

He collapsed in a chair at the kitchen table, remembering with too cruel vividness the last time they sat down here. Being in the cottage felt like rewearing a beloved garment stretched out of place until it lost its shape. It no longer felt like his own. 

The dust motes highlighted by the light pilfering through the cracks in the curtains— restored, too, by Moon and Ray—above the scullery only consolidated the fact. There was never a speck of dust to be seen in here, from his childhood up to. . . well. His grandmother had taken pride in her home, in herself, in her surroundings, in her town and to a greater and enviable degree, the people whom she loved and watered more attentively than her cherished gardens. 

And now she was gone. 

He had been earnest when he’d confessed to Nan that he had no reason to remain in this town. He appreciated the people he’d grown up with and the ones that treated him kindly when so many others did not. He did not think there existed friends better than Moon and Ray and they knew as well as he did that they owned a piece of his soul. 

But none of those were a tether, as much as he liked them to be. The only force that had grounded him here was Nan. 

He was adrift. 

Yes, that was it. More than grief, more than despair. He was adrift, a lost howl on the wind. 

These were the contemplations he was sifting through when the scratchings registered. He stilled and strained and caught them coming from behind him, from the heavy oak backdoor. 

Recent events and suspicions advised him to be cautious but he needed no firearm when he was a walking artillery, so he strode to it and swung it open. There was no one. Until he looked down. 

A large man, half nude with the rest of his clothes ragged and tattered lay at his step. He was caked in dirt and blood, and wounds festered in various places on his body visible to Jongin. His head was down but his arm was raised and in the clutch of the hand offered to Jongin was the corolla of a black dahlia. 

* * *

Jongin paced back and forth, every while glancing at the lump in his bed that did not quite fit, and then promptly turned on his heels and paced down the other way. 

With difficulty, he had cleaned (with a spell), bandaged and bedded the wounded stranger but all the while his mind whirled and functioned in awed frenzy. Because the stranger did not feel like a stranger. His aura read tentatively like that of a friend, his features familiar too. 

Then there was the dahlia and the only significance he could imagine it having. 

But had he really been interacting with a shifter and did not sense it? Well, he did sense it. But he thought he would know. 

More puzzling was the several bullets he had to extract from the man. One in the hip, one in his thigh, another lodged in his left pectoral. The wounds had all started to heal, all sealed with the bullets inside and that caused the festering and damage. He sanitized and disinfected as much as he could, cast a few rejuvenation spells and with his own seemingly enhanced healing, the man should be recovered after some rest but Jongin remained with a shred of niggling worry. 

How had the bullets got there? How was he still alive? The shifter theory—and the theory that he was the same wolf Jongin had engaged with in the clearing—satisfied the latter question too well. 

Sighing disgruntledly, he accepted there was nothing he could do or know until the stranger awoke and turned towards the door. 

A hoarse whisper stalled him. 

He listened to silence for a few moments and when he decided there was nothing to hear, it came again. This time it was clearer. 

“Red,” 

The man had sat up in Jongin’s childhood bed, head resting on the dog rose wallpaper. He had a dull look that could be mistaken for lazy disheveled charm but Jongin knew that it was brought on by pain. Still, the man smiled warmly and croaked, “Little Red.” 

Jongin took a step towards the bed and said with a voice brittle for inexplicable reasons, “Mr. Wolf?” 

“Hello.” 

“Hello.” he returned and made the full way to his bed and sat carefully on the edge. “It’s good to see you again. You arrived in a rather unfortunate state, though it would not be the first time.” 

“So you’ve told me.” Mr. Wolf’s voice was hoarse with either disuse or pain or both and Jongin decided it was time to do something about at least one of those things. 

“You are more handsome clean, I’ll permit you that.” Jongin stood again before he could get comfortable. Mr. Wolf’s hair was black as coal and stray locks fell over his forehead after Jongin had taken the time to clean and brush out dirt and grass and petals. He had plump limps and regal nose and eyes that were as sable as his wolf coat. Jongin could do nothing about the cuts or bruises marring his cheeks and he had not attempted to rid him of the stubble on his chin but even battered, the shifter cut an imposing figure by his musculature alone. 

“Come with me. We must feed you and do something about your pain.” 

The bed groaned as the man moved. He was quiet otherwise, cautious and nimble despite his build. Jongin felt him pause as they passed by Nan’s bedroom, whose door was firmly shut, but when he looked back the shifter was staring ahead with an unreadable expression. He could hardly believe this was the same wolf that had frolicked happily with him in the woods. 

“Awful quiet you are.” Jongin noted as he pointed Mr. Wolf to a chair and started putting together a meal. There was silence. Jongin accepted that he would get no answer. Then, as he sliced bread while the kettle whistled on the stove, he heard a gruff but sincere query. 

“What would you like me to say?” 

Jongin paused, knife lowered. At last, he decided, “Tell me your name.”

“Chanyeol.” 

Nothing accompanied it. Jongin accepted it as it was and introduced himself. 

“Jongin,” Chanyeol repeated after him, sounding slightly out of breath, gruffer. “Little Red.” 

“Is that what you’d like to call me? Fine,” he shrugged and smiled, gliding to the kettle. “Tell me where you came from. Tell me what you are. Tell me how you ended up here.” 

“I come from Vaeka. I was born human but my king placed a curse on me. I roamed for months before I ended up here but everywhere I went, I was hunted. Your people were no different.” he spoke slow, like he couldn’t remember the words or that they were hard to form. His voice did not rid of its hoarseness after several attempts to clear his throat either and despite the cracking Jongin found that he quite enjoyed the deep mahogany tenor of it. 

The concise answers only opened the door for more curiosity but Jongin settled on one of the more pressing questions. 

“Who shot you?” 

“Your men.” 

_ “Why?” _

“I was trying to stop them.” he paused, “When they came to hurt your nana.” 

The kettle slipped from Jongin’s grasp. 

The burn of the boiling water did not come. 

Chanyeol had been in his seat one moment and in the time it took for Jongin to let go, he had flit to Jongin’s side to lift him onto the counter and out of harm’s way. His fingers lingered on Jongin’s hips, like he was afraid Jongin would slide boneless to the ground and burn himself on the water he was just saved from, but Jongin was not paying attention to any of that.

“‘Hurt your nana’, what do you mean?” a crater opened up in his gut. Had his ears deceived him?

“I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t want your apology!” Jongin snapped, “What happened? What do you know?” 

“We were in that glade when I heard them speak. One of them said ‘there is nothing to keep him in these woods if there is nothing he cares about here’. I caught their scent and it was going nearer and nearer where you were staying. I had seen your nana there as well and my instincts told me they were up to no good. I tried to get there in time but. . .” he trailed off, casting his eyes away from Jongin’s for the first time.

“I was too late. The man I later killed was standing over her with a bayonet. I tried to end them all. They pursued me all over the house—I apologize for ruining it. One of them, the one who had the bayonet, followed me out. I knew you were coming and I didn’t want them to find you, I knew they would hurt you. They gave chase and I got the murderer isolated enough to kill him. A few bullets got me too. I’m sorry I could not come back to you sooner.” 

“He killed my Nan?” he heard what Chanyeol said but diffusing the words into something comprehensible was proving difficult. 

“Yes,” it was thick with repentance. 

“What did he look like?”

“Tall, thin long face, wore a burgundy ribbon on his doublet.” 

“Oh.” he exhaled heavily. 

Jongin had never known what it was like to be gutted and exalted at once but he found out that moment. 

“You killed  _ him.” _ he breathed, incredulous. 

“Who?” 

“The one I told you about. The one I said I would do bad things to.” 

“I am glad I did what I did.” 

“I am not.” Jongin declared and shoved Chanyeol away, “You robbed me of my longest-held wish.” 

Chanyeol stared at him with conflicted eyes. 

“At ease,” Jongin smiled, unable to bear the wounded puppy look any longer, “I tease you. It was my dream to cut that worm down, but I do not scorn you for what you did.” 

Chanyeol nodded and let himself be guided back to his chair. Jongin refilled the kettle and Chanyeol let him to his melee of emotions and bustling thoughts. 

* * *

They slept in the sitting room that evening. The chamomile tea worked as Jongin had expected and the wolf had barely grabbed a bolster before he folded before the fireplace and fell into a deep snore. 

Jongin had not planned to sleep in the cottage that night but he could not leave Chanyeol here. He had yet to perform the rewinding spell and at that point, he did not see the need. He could not detect deceit in Chanyeol’s words. What use did he have for a lie in any case? Jaeho had murdered Nan in an attempt to manipulate Jongin, as usual. Chanyeol had delivered his karma. 

It was past midnight and all he had accomplished since he stretched out on the sofa was tossing and turning and enchanting the seats with a spell of lushness but trivial comfort was no match for the tumult inside him. 

The truth. He had promised himself, he would allow himself to mourn once he found the truth. He had it now and gods, he never felt emptier. Not even the triumph at Jaeho’s demise sustained. Warping was out of the question, the very thought of it was painful. Sighing, he turned onto his side to watch the fire again and see if time would pass any quicker. 

A pair of dark eyes were watching him. He startled quietly, not noticing Chanyeol had awoken. The wolf flinched as though repentant for startling him but Jongin smiled at him with the little strength he had left to do so. 

“Pretty witch,” his voice was husky, his eyes soft. 

The kick of Jongin’s heart was the first scrap of emotion punching through the fog that had wrapped itself around him. 

“Charming dog,” he returned, sliding a leg out of his quilt to nudge Chanyeol’s thigh. 

Chanyeol growled at the indignity, very much like a dog, and it surprised a laugh out of Jongin. 

“Hush,” he let his feet rest on the shifter’s thigh, “you did not let me finish. Charming dog, brave wolf, handsome human.” unaware of his intentions until he acted, Jongin found himself sliding to the floor, rising slowly above Chanyeol to straddle his hips as Chanyeol watched him raptly. 

“Chanyeol,” he whispered after a moment of silence, the wolf patient. “I feel like my emotions have been scrubbed clean of my insides. I feel like I will never feel a single thing again. I feel like I will die from it.” the playfulness fled the room, the confession fell heavy and sombre. 

“Make me feel, Chanyeol. I. . . Help me forget that I can’t feel.” 

He almost toppled backward as Chanyeol rose, but Chanyeol had him firmly by his waist. His palm enveloped Jongin’s nape as he stroked the scruff of his neck and asked in a husky voice, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

A man of few words and many actions as he’d thus far proved himself to be, Chanyeol gently set his nerves and emotions alight, one by one. Tentative kisses at first, testing Jongin’s boundaries, letting him push for more and more. Indulging in Jongin’s mouth at length once Jongin opened up for him and let him caress him with his tongue. His body slowly came alive like brimstone and before he knew it Chanyeol was helping him move his hips, grind into his thigh and hide his face in Chanyeol’s thick neck as pleasure washed over him. 

When he got hold of his breath again he lifted his head to thank Chanyeol but the wolf was lowering him to his pillows by the shoulder. 

“I’ll make you forget, Little Red,” he murmured, kissing Jongin’s neck wetly, “I have not yet started.” 

His palm dug into the base of Jongin’s cock over the material and Jongin’s vision instantly clouded with stars as he came again. 

* * *

Chanyeol was not by Jongin’s side when he woke with the sun in his eyes. The racket coming from deeper in the cottage assured him that the shifter had not abandoned him. He settled into the nest of quilts and pillows made around him with startling strong fondness for the man who’d thought to do so. His body ached pleasantly, too, and his cheeks warmed as the previous night came back to him. 

Without penetrating him once, Chanyeol had broken his body in ways he had never imagined, ways he had not thought were even possible using magic. He had certainly succeeded in bringing the life back to Jongin. 

But then reality sunk in and any remnant of content seeped out in an almost audible  _ whoosh. _ The reality was, Jongin had used a stranger to bury his grief. The reality was, there was a stranger in Nan’s kitchen. The reality was, Nan was gone. The reality was, he had been robbed of the last family he had, and robbed too soon. 

This was the real crashing and burning. The previous days had been denial and numbness. This was where his grief began. 

Oddly enough, there was peace in that. His mind was made. He did not want to stay in this town and there was nothing forcing him to. 

When he asked, he only hoped Chanyeol would say yes. When he asked, he hoped Moon and Ray would say yes. His mind was made up, regardless, but he hoped his closest friends and the stranger he had a strong feeling about would say yes to his request and follow him out on his voyage. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I think a sequel is in order, so you can expect one. Thank you for reading!


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